


Last Men Standing

by dogmatix, norcumi



Series: A Supplemental Star to Steer By [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, GFY, Gen, Goa'uld Jedi, Not a death fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 13:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7173686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keeli knew that the Jedi was strange the moment the small being left the applicant’s cushion for the table, only to stop and stare at Keeli’s hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Men Standing

**Author's Note:**

> Norcumi's note: This unexpected supplemental is brought to you because Dogmatix is awesome and Reasons. For those who are wondering, the universe -- main Star and the supplementals both -- has NOT been abandoned, we are just really busy lately. There will be updates eventually.

Keeli knew that the Jedi was strange the moment the small being left the applicant’s cushion for the table, only to stop and stare at Keeli’s hair. It wasn’t exactly standard cut, but Keeli had never expected a Jedi to care. Watching the reddish-tan Jedi with pale fins stop and tilt his head was odd enough, but feeling the weight of those four pale blue eyes made his shoulders draw straighter in anticipation.

Keeli knew that equal regard for all three Search candidates was part of the ceremony. While the Jedi did take extra care to turn and study the other host potentials, it was a blatant stopgap measure, but at least polite conventions were met.

Oh, but the moment Ima-Gun Di wrapped around his wrist and Keeli felt that faintly curious regard, interest and good humor humming into him– 

He knew.

 _They_ knew. 

* * *

One of Master Di’s greatest secrets was his sense of humor. Very few people dared to be rude enough to ask about the name, so only a handful of friends knew that it wasn’t intentional. The name ‘Ima-Gun’ was a common enough variant from Di’s home temple in the Mid-Rim region, where Basic was a second language at best, and the local Nikto spoke it only rarely. The result – ‘I’m gon’ die’ – was innocuous enough, but when Di had the pun pointed out to him, he’d embraced it with a laugh. Di radiated a quiet, gently morbid amusement at the way it made many squirm or do a double-take, and he pointed out to his host that it was useful for breaking down barriers and figuring out what kind of sense of humour someone had, if any. 

Keeli thought it was a bit silly, and while it bothered him from time to time that his Jedi had taken a name that might invoke superstitious ill fortune, well, it was Di’s choice, not Keeli’s, and most of the time it was worth the amusement. 

* * *

Di was never really recognized for his humor, but what he did get a reputation for was determination. Keeli hadn’t been hosting even five years before that became clear. They both liked the Outer Rim patrols, the pirate routes, and by the end of that particular stint Keeli had lost count of the times they’d been called ‘a force of Nature.’ Keeli had the scars to back it up, too. No matter the odds, no matter the setbacks or defeats, they always, _always_ got back up again. 

* * *

Neither of them liked the look of the Separatist Uprising. Di would frown and mentally mutter about how this was _war_ , not an uprising. Keeli would wear his blandest expression while internally grumbling agreement right back. 

Then they would get to work.

* * *

Ryloth quickly became a bone of contention, with the local mining providing necessary metals for both construction and trade. When it became apparent that several of the Separatist coalitions were also looking to ‘conscript’ Twi’leks for labor, matters only got worse. Keeli and Di got a longer term assignment, and started working with the local resistance movement. 

Then the Seps started to seriously hammer away at them. Di put everything he had learned about tactics and guerrilla fighting to work, giving ground rather than offering open battle, and leaving behind the bodies of the fallen to bait devastating traps. Behind the planetary blockade, Ryloth was strewn with clanker fragments and Republic dead. 

* * *

In the fourth year of what everyone still refused to call a war, Keeli and Di were finally cornered. They’d kept the Seps chasing them busy for almost a month, uncertain if they’d been able to get word out about the worsening state of affairs. True, the clankers had to tromp over countless rockfalls in a maze of canyons, but as always they outnumbered the Republic forces. Keeli and Di were the last of the command staff to go down; blaster in one hand, lightsaber in the other, still firing even as Keeli could feel a sideshot rip through his armour’s seam along his ribs, under the arm and _burning_. 

* * *

Force, he hated how the stench of bacta persisted for hours after a long dip. Keeli blinked slowly, a bit surprised to see the blur above him resolve into ceiling panels. That stupid ‘soothing blue’ that someone once told him medics believed was kind to patients. 

Always made him a little seasick. Reminded him of a few of his trips to Kamino proper. Hellhole of a planet. 

Far, far easier to focus on that, than how empty his mind felt. 

Medics walked with a particular rolling step, making a hair more noise than most brothers. Safety precaution, since sneaking up on a soldier was never a good idea. “Commander,” a brother’s voice called, soft enough to not disturb anyone else who might be in the area, but further announcing his approach. “Good to see you’re awake.” 

‘Surprised to see you’re awake,’ Keeli translated. Gods. Oh, gods. 

“Di,” he demanded, voice raspier than usual, the bacta taste far too strong as he rolled his head to the side to look at the medic. “Is my Jedi alive?” 

Medics _all_ shared that particular dry look. “Yes. And the only reason _you’re_ still alive is because of him.” The medic started taking vitals. “And both of you idiots were more dead than alive when we got to you.” 

Keeli eyed the yellow trim. “212th?” Keeli managed, and the brother nodded. 

“Skywalker managed to crack the blockade enough once we got your emergency call.” He hesitated, then clearly decided Keeli was healthy enough to take the news. “We don’t know if we’ll be able to keep it, but I hear Syndulla and General Windu are working their way to the capital.” 

Oh, that would be nice. A solid base to work from instead of a series of caves. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been someplace even vaguely civilized if the purpose wasn’t to blow it up, sooner or later. Keeli dragged his attention back to the present with some effort. He had to be on some good drugs still. “Why’s th’ General so quiet?” 

He did _not_ like the pinched look the medic developed. “He – both of you – were tapping into the Force pretty extensively even before you went down. I hadn’t seen readings like that outside of emergency and triage training, and those were worst-case scenarios we were pretty much expected to fail.” 

_Force_. Medics failing never mean anything good. 

Wait. Something the medic had said. “Even before?” 

The brother had a sympathetic look, touched with a hint of awe, maybe even a bit of envy. “You did hear me say that the only reason you’re still alive is because of him, right?” Keeli knew he had to have gone pale, _very_ pale given how the medic went from gentle to concerned. 

“Not dead, but– ?” 

“Psychic strain,” the medic said, voice level as he studied his datapad. Way too level. Keeli wasn’t surprised when the man continued. “He also took some serious damage to his lower half, which is why he is under strict orders to not exert himself in any way. Jedi don’t always play well with bacta, which doesn’t do shit for overuse of the Force anyways.” 

Overuse of the Force to keep Keeli alive. He nodded, closing his eyes for a moment in an attempt to gain some self-control. # _Thank you, General._ # He had no idea if Di could even hear him, but he felt that it should be said anyways. 

“ _Strict_ orders, Commander. Conversation with you is fine. As the week goes on, conversation _through_ you is fine, but healing with the Force – him _or_ you – is off limits. If I have even a suspicion that he’s exerting himself and countermanding my orders, he _will_ be ordered out of you so he can take an appropriate time healing in a pool.” The medic must have seen something on Keeli’s face, because he developed an impressive scowl. “In medical matters I outrank _everyone_ , Commander, and if either of you wish to argue that, I won’t hesitate to knock you both out and report your asses to General Windu, or even Yoda. I didn’t work that hard to keep you both in one piece to have General Di injure himself or you in some boneheaded attempt to be a hero.” 

Keeli could find grief in the medic’s expression, though the man tried to grin even as he carefully patted Keeli’s shoulder. “You two did that several times over already. Now. Get some rest– ” 

“Who di’n’t?” 

Didn’t attempt to be a hero. Didn’t succeed at being a hero. 

Did not survive. 

The medic hesitated, but he knew it wasn’t a matter of rank. He got Keeli a datapad, already set to show the casualty lists, before ducking away to give Keeli some privacy. 

It was a damn long list. Soldiers from the 212th, 501st, the 91st. So very, very many from his own 64th. At least two Jedi and their hosts, with another three unaccounted for. Gods. 

# _We did what we could._ # The General’s voice was thin, weak in a way that Keeli did not like in the least. Didn’t help that the tone was flat and empty – the words needed to be said, but it still was not enough for either of them. 

Keeli made a noise that could pass for agreement, carefully shifting to cup a hand behind his neck. He couldn’t feel his Jedi, but it was a reassuring gesture nonetheless – for both of them. They sat and read the casualties, awed disbelief at their survival mingling with quiet mourning. 

They had names to remember. Wounds to heal. 

A job to get back to. 


End file.
